


Iron and Sand

by VagrantWriter



Series: Iron and Blood [6]
Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Comfort, Fluff, Multi, Past Abuse, Past Sexual Abuse, Pregnancy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-30
Updated: 2016-05-26
Packaged: 2018-06-05 11:55:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 9,408
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6703624
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/VagrantWriter/pseuds/VagrantWriter
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Stories about the women who would have changed Theon Greyjoy's life if their paths had ever crossed.</p><p>Following the Greyjoy Rebellion, Theon is sent to Dorne.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this while traveling. I have no idea where it's going, as of yet. Mainly it's in reaction to the Dorne plot line in the show. Ellaria, what have they done to you?

The boy had a sweet face, though puffy and tear-stained. Had the poor thing cried the entire way to Dorne? He tried his best to hide it, setting his expression into a scowl—which came off as more of a pout—as he lugged his little bag down the gangplank and refused help from any adults. He kept his eyes rooted to the ground, even when Oberyn came forward and knelt down to be on his level.

“Welcome to Dorne,” he said, using the fatherly tone he used with the girls. “You must be Prince Theon Greyjoy. I am Prince Oberyn Martell and this is my paramour, Ellaria Sand.”

The boy did lift his eyes then. They raked over Oberyn first, then moved on to Ellaria. She noted the confusion in his voice as he took in her rounded belly. “A paramour…is a princess?” he asked, dark brows drawn together. “Your wife?”

“My lover,” he corrected, looking not at the boy but straight at her. He had this way of looking at her that made her entire body bloom with heat, and gods, she seemed to be horny every minute of her pregnancy. It had been the same with Elia and Obella. Luckily, no matter how round she got, Oberyn’s interest was never diminished, and he would be more than willing to ravish her tonight, after all this tedious political business was set to rest.

“You mean your…salt wife?” the boy asked.

Oberyn chuckled. “Yes, in a manner.” He held out his hand. “Come, we will take you to meet the rest of my household.”

The boy looked at the proffered hand as if it were a coiled snake, but gradually he reached out and took it. Oberyn stood and began to lead him back towards the carriage.

Ellaria felt terrible for thinking of him as tedious political business. It wasn’t his fault, and she was rather fond of children. It was the circumstances surrounding him. It sickened her that Westeros would try to drag Dorne into their internal quibbling, but it sickened her even more that they would use an innocent boy as a pawn in their games. He was only a little older than Elia. She couldn’t imagine someone ripping her girl from her arms and shipping her off to some far-off land, with the threat that she would be murdered the instant she or Oberyn misbehaved. Then again, these were the same people who had murdered Elia’s namesake, Oberyn’s sister, and her three children. Truly, there were no depths the northerners would not sink to.

Oberyn helped him into the carriage first, then Ellaria. The boy set his sack on the seat next to him, as if trying to ward them from sitting near him. Ellaria nodded politely to show she understood and sat down across the way, even if it would mean traveling backwards the entire trip to Sun Spear, which was sure to upset her pregnancy sickness. It wasn’t too far to the fortress, made long only by the winding roads up the cliff sides. Oberyn sat next to her and curled a hand over her shoulder.

The footman closed the door, and soon they were moving onwards. The boy—Theon, she supposed she should call him—kept his gaze out the window. Ellaria knew little of the Iron Islands, but it had to have been vastly different from Dorne. She could already tell that his skin was burning, unused to the sun and heat.

“I am sorry that my brother could not come to meet you himself,” Oberyn said.

“The captain said he’s a—said that he can’t walk,” Theon said, quickly catching himself before he said something rude. “But he’s the one who can have my head taken…if my father rebels again, right?”

Oberyn waved his hand. “I do not want you to fear for your life while you are here, Theon. We do not hurt little boys in Dorne.”

“I’m not a little boy.”

“No, of course not,” Oberyn agreed. “But we will not hurt you, nonetheless. You are our guest.”

“What if my father rebels?”

“Then if King Robert wants such a terrible thing done, he must come down here himself to do it. And if he does, we will not hand you over to him.”

Theon turned away from the window. “Really?”

“Really,” Ellaria said. It might be better if she joined in as well, to show the boy that he would be protected. “Dorne harbors no love of the throne.”

Theon studied her again. He rocked back and forth in his seat. “You’re a bastard?” he asked at last.

“I am.” She knew Dorne had a more tolerant view of bastards than most of the seven kingdoms, and Oberyn had warned her that he might have some preconceived notions of her and their children. She vowed that she would never show an ounce of shame in front of him; she would not apologize for being born.

“The Boltons, the family that had me before,” he began, “they had a bastard too.” There was something in his tone, something hollow.

Ellaria looked to Oberyn. He had not told her all the details, merely that the boy had been shuffled around a bit before arriving in Dorne. King Robert had first foisted him onto the Starks, but Lady Stark’s House had bad blood with the Ironborn and Lord Stark had refused to hold the boy out of respect for his lady wife. (Apparently tensions were high between the two of them based on an infidelity which has resulted in a Northern bastard, a Snow, another unwanted child.) The Greyjoy boy had then been handed off to a smaller Northern House—the Boltons, according to Theon—where he had…not gotten on with his foster family. Oberyn had not been told more, as the less people who knew, the less chance of word getting back to Balon Greyjoy.

“No one is going to hurt you here,” Oberyn repeated. “I swear to it on my name as Prince of Dorne.”

 

***

 

He really was a quiet little boy. He kept to himself. For the first week, Ellaria barely even saw him, let alone spoke to him. She did catch glimpses of him, though, watching them from behind a partition or around a pillar. Whenever he realized he’d been discovered, he would skitter away like a frightened hare.

“He will come out when he is ready,” Oberyn assured her. “He is adjusting. The maester says he is quite uncomfortable from sun sickness but says that he is in good health otherwise. You needn’t worry yourself about him for the time being.”

Ellaria supposed he was right and tried to put him from her mind. At least, until the day she found him in the water gardens. As in, wading in the water gardens. His shoes were off and his breeches rolled up to his knees as he splashed through the fountain, kicking up water as he went. He was so intent that he didn’t notice her approach, and since she didn’t wish to disturb him, she watched from the shade of the portico.

He was marching back and forth in irregular intervals. It took her a while to realize he was following the tiled pattern. He traced the swirling tiles out to the deepest part of the fountain and stood still for several moments, with his head craned up towards the sky and face towards the slight breeze from the ocean. Even rolled up, his pant legs were soaking wet.

From farther off in the gardens, a peacock cried out, which broke him from his moment. He gave a cursory glance around but still did not see her. That was the only explanation for why he started unlacing his doublet.

“If you wanted to swim, you only needed to say so.”

He spun around, clasping his open collar tight. His face was still very red from sun sickness, or perhaps embarrassment. “Lady E-Ellaria,” he stammered. “L-Lady Sand, I mean.”

“Ellaria is fine.” She walked leisurely to the foot of the fountain and watched the ripples he’d stirred break against the stone base. “You realize the fountains weren’t meant for swimming?”

“I was just trying to cool off.” He looked positively stricken and hurried back to dry land. “I didn’t mean to break any rules. I-I didn’t do any damage, did I?”

“No, you are quite fine,” Ellaria said, giving what she hoped was a disarming chuckle. “It’s just that there are places better suited for swimming. Come.” She cocked her head. “I will show you.”

“Oh…I…” He bent down to pick up his boots, which he held against his chest uncertainly. “Thank you.”

She began leading the way, and he remained a pace or two behind her, eyes locked on the ground, boots still tightly grasped, as if they were his only shield.

“Did you swim often, at your home?”

He blinked. “Yes. I swam in the ocean a lot.” He lowered both his head and voice. “It was something I was good at.”

Ellaria lifted her arm, making a show of blocking the sun from her eyes. It was bright out today, but not punishingly so. In fact, she would say it was a rather pleasant day. But judging by the way poor boy was sweating, he was not used to such heat. “It is warm today,” she said. “I do not blame you for wanting to cool off. I am led to believe the sun does not shine so harshly on the Iron Islands.”

“No,” he answered simply.

Perhaps he did not wish to speak of home.

She changed the subject. “Besides the heat, how are you faring? Is your room comfortable?”

“Yes,” he answered. Then a quick, “Thank you.”

“Is the food to your liking? I know foreign dishes can take some getting used to.”

“No, my Lady. I mean, yes, it’s fine. I haven’t been very hungry.”

“Well, then, we’ll see if you can’t work up an appetite while swimming.”

He looked up at her with large, uncomprehending eyes. He was so very young and far away from home. Her heart ached for him.

“How old are you, Theon?”

“Ten.”

“Hmm. Yes, right between Sarella and Dorea. I’m sure you’ll get on well with them.”

“Girls?” he balked.

“Well, there’s Quentyn, but he’s to foster with Lord Yronwood and will be leaving Sun Spear shortly.” She folded her hands in front of her. “Do you spar?”

Theon looked at his own hands, dirty from gripping his boots. “Not really, no.”

“Then perhaps you can convince one of the girls to teach you a weapon. They are always looking for a new sparring partner.”

“Girls…spar?”

“Of course. They also fight, the older ones. They are quite good at it.”

Theon thought about that in silence for a moment.

“My Lady…”

“Please, Ellaria. I am no highborn lady.”

“Yes, Ellaria,” he corrected. “Will it be crowded? At the…swimming place?”

He sounded nervous, and she could guess why. “Of course not. I’m taking you to the princes’ private pool, and if anyone is there, we’ll ask them to leave. I’m sure you wouldn’t mind a little privacy.”

“Yes. I mean, no, you don’t have to do that.”

“I suppose not, but I will.”

He lowered his head once again.

They rounded the last corner to the alcove that housed the pool, separated from the rest of the gardens by a high hedge and an iron gate. Ellaria let them both in, with Theon treading closely behind her and looking ready to dart at any moment. All the tension went out of him once he caught sight of the pool; she could hear his breath hitch in his throat.

She’d had a similar reaction the first time Oberyn had showed it to her. She remembered thinking it was bigger than she’d anticipated, a field of perfectly smooth, perfectly clear water running right up to the pillared portico. The tile work was truly magnificent, done out in the shape of the Matrell family crest, but she’d always found the plain while tiling more fascinating; she loved watching the refraction from the water make lines along the pool floor.

Fortunately, nobody was there.

Theon set his boots down and sat down at the pool’s edge to dangle his feet in. He could see how truly deep the water was, probably over his head. “You can get in,” she coaxed.

He looked up at her with his wide, swimming eyes. “Are you staying?”

She knew what he was asking. She’d seen how self-conscious he’d gotten when she’d caught him in the act of stripping. He seemed a bit young to be self-conscious of his body yet, but she supposed the northerners had different mores regarding nudity.

“I’ll look away while you undress,” she said, “but I’d rather be close in case you need help.”

“I won’t need help.”

“I’ll just be on the other side of the hedge.” She turned back towards the gate. “If you find you do need anything, give me a call. I’ll be right outside. I’ll make sure no one comes in.”

He looked unconvinced, or at least confused as to why she would offer such a thing. It seemed he was mistrustful by nature. But given what he’d been through, she couldn’t blame him for that. Trust didn’t happen quickly, especially with the people who’d torn you away from your home and taken you halfway across the known world.

At last, he simply nodded to her. “Thank you, Ellaria.”

 

***

 

That night, as she lay with Oberyn after a round of passionate lovemaking that left the sheets stained with sweat, among other things, she laid her head on his bare chest and waited until he was just about to drift off before saying, “I think you should take the Greyjoy boy on your squire.”

He woke up at that. She’d hoped he would sleepily agree. “What?”

She shifted her hips. It was always difficult finding a comfortable position this late into her pregnancy. “It would be a show of goodwill to our new guest. It would get him out of Sun Spear on occasion, so he will feel less like a prisoner. And besides, you’ve been talking about taking on a squire. Since Quentyn is heading off soon, Theon seems a likely choice.”

“The lad doesn’t look like he belongs anywhere near a tourney, let alone a true battle,” Oberyn said.

“He doesn’t have the confidence in himself,” Ellaria granted, “but I think you could teach him. You’ve done a marvelous job teaching the girls. Perhaps you could even double Elia’s training with his. Teach him to use a weapon.”

Oberyn was silent for a moment, and she worried that he would say her plan was dangerous, that teaching a hostage to use a weapon was a sure way of having that hostage turn his blade on his captors. But then, Oberyn did not view the boy as a hostage; she was unsure whether Theon viewed them as captors.

At last, he nodded, running his hand idly through her hair. “Alright, my love,” he conceded. “I will take on Theon Greyjoy as my squire.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Second chapter, yay! This is all I have written so far, but I'm planning on probably two more chapters, just not posted regularly. Suggestions on the direction you want to see it go in are welcomed!

“You should not have hit him.”

“He’ll live,” Elia muttered, twisting her braid over and over again in her hands. “I wouldn’t have killed him. I have enough self-control. You can even ask—”

“You should not. Have hit. Him,” Ellaria interrupted.

Elia scowled further. She was a natural scowler, growing more skilled at it by the day. “He said he wouldn’t spar with me because I’m a girl and a bastard. I told him he was just scared, because he’s _watched_ me practice every day. We’ve sparred _before_. And when he said he could beat me with his backed turned, I…well, I…”

“You _hit_ him.” Ellaria tapped her foot impatiently. The sound echoed off the high ceilings, making everything seem hollow and empty. It was the perfect room for scolding her children, and the other Sand Snakes if it came to it. “You hit your opponent while he back was turned. And you drew blood.”

“He’s lucky it was me and not Tyene,” she protested. “Then he’d be dead for sure.”

“You need to apologize.”

“I won’t apologize. He’s the one who was being a cunt.”

Ellaria’s eyes bulged. “Who taught you that word?” Gods above, she was only ten.

“Theon,” she said. Of course.

This latest incident worried her. Elia was acting out more, true, but it was Theon’s behavior that was even more concerning. He was twelve now, at the age where impressing boys his own age was all he ever thought about. When he wasn’t thinking about… _other_ things, that is. He’d fallen in with some of the older boys and sought their approval above all things, perhaps even that _other_ thing. She’d found him peeking into the women’s bathing quarters, and he confessed that he’d only been motivated by a dare. Such a shame. He and Elia had gotten along so well before. He practically worshipped the ground Obara walked on, and Obella, in turn, practically worshipped the ground he walked on. She hoped he wouldn’t throw that all away for some fleeting approval of boys he didn’t care for in any case.

“Theon is…going through some changes right now,” she continued in a softer voice.

“Yes, he’s changing into a cunt.”

“Do not use this language,” Ellaria said. “A cunt is not something that should be besmeared by a hateful tongue.” Oberyn would chuckle if he were here. “And I want you to apologize to Theon.”

“I’ll apologize if he apologizes first.”

Ellaria sighed. “I can’t guarantee that he will apologize, but you need to be the better person here. You are the daughter of Oberyn Martell, and you do him dishonor by acting such a way.”

She had the decency to look shamed at that, as she lowered her head and stared hard at the floor, the scowl never really leaving her face. “I’m sorry, Mother. I just…don’t understand why he would say that to me. Being a girl or a bastard never bothered him _before_.”

“Like I said, he is going through some changes. It doesn’t excuse his behavior. I will give him a good talking-to.” _Once we find him_ , he said to herself. She’d sent one of the guards to search for him, but he’d become an expert at hiding himself away. “Now, I want you to remain here and contemplate your actions. I will be back to let you know when you may leave.”

“Yes, Mother.”

As Ellaria left the room and closed the door behind her, a small bundle of energy came running at her and slammed itself into her shins. “Mama,” Dorea said, clinging to her mother’s skirts. “T’eon bleeding.”

Ellaria lifted her daughter into her arms and shifted her tiny weight onto one hip. “Alright, dear. Show me?”

Dorea led her to an out-of-the-way nook on one of the walkways looking out over the water gardens. Ironically, or perhaps not, Ellaria had been the one to show him the place, so that he could read in private. She found him there now, tucked into the alcove bench, knees to his chin. Elia’s spear had cut through his doublet and to the skin below, leaving a long streak of red against the washed-out color of his skin. His skin had darkened against sun sickness, but he would likely never lose that edge of paleness about him.

He looked up when they approached. “Are you here to scold me about what I said to Elia?”

“Perhaps. A bit.” Ellaria set Dorea down. “How badly are you hurt?”

“Not bad,” he answered too quickly. “I can deal with it.”

“You need to have it tended by the maester.”

Theon shook his head. “It’s fine. Just a scratch.”

“The blood you’re getting all over the cushions says otherwise.”

He shifted self-consciously. “I’m sorry about Elia.”

“You can tell her that yourself. After we get you seen to.”

Again, he shook his head. After two years, he was still extremely self-conscious about undressing around others, and she suspected this was the source of his reluctance. He didn’t want to have to take off his shirt for the maester.

“T’eon bleeding,” Dorea said, wobbling over to Theon.

Theon looked away from her.

Ellaria put her hands on her hips. “Would you be more comfortable if I were the one to tend your wound?”

He was silent for a moment. Then he gave a hesitant nod. “Alright, but… you won’t tell Elia?”

So, there was something he was hiding. She had suspected as much. “Of course not.”

He sighed and untucked himself. “Thank you.” He didn’t ask that Dorea be sent away, but he eyed her as if she were volatile. Slowly, he began unlacing his doublet. His movements were a bit stiff next when he pulled his undershirt over his head. He set them both on the floor; Ellaria hoped the doublet, at least, could be mended. Shirtless, hands at his side and facing her, he took a deep breath and turned around.

She had expected an unsightly burn or birthmark. She had even entertained the notion of scars, but boys his age were more likely to show off their scars than hide them in shame. But when she saw the crisscrossing marks up and down his back, she knew. He had been whipped, by an unskilled hand it looked like. There were about twenty angry, raised lines, faded to pink. There were also myriad tinier scars that looked like they could have been from a knife. And Elia’s blade had cut straight through it all.

She breathed out and tried to keep her surprise in check. He had certainly not gotten those since he’d been here. Who would do such a thing to a child? The Starks? The foster family he hadn’t gotten on with?

She stepped closer to examine the new wound. “You’re right,” she said, “it’s not bad. It’s bleeding a lot, but it doesn’t look to be deep. I’ll clean up the wound and get you a bit of bandaging. I don’t see a reason to call the maester.”

Theon’s shoulders went tense, then slack when she didn’t ask the obvious question. He didn’t want to talk about the scars, so she wouldn’t ask.

She bundled up his ruined undershirt to use as a temporary bandage. When he slipped his doublet on over it, it was too bulky to tie properly, but at least it covered his back completely. “Do I have to walk like this back to my room?” he asked. “I look like a hunchback.” There was a smile on his face, though. That was the Theon that Elia loved, the one who laughed and joked all the time. Perhaps she would not lose him yet.

“Go rest up in your room,” Ellaria said. “I’ll bring you some proper bandaging. You can apologize to Elia later.”

He nodded. “I really didn’t mean…”

Ellaria held up her hand. “You will tell her yourself. She is not one to admit it, but it truly hurt her to know you hold such low esteem of women and bastards.”

“I don’t,” Theon said.

“Did you forget that I, myself, am a woman and a bastard? Would you say such a thing to me?”

His eyes widened in horror. “No! Of course not. I would never—I just…I don’t know why I said that.”

“Then you will guard yourself more closely and pay mind to what you say from now on?”

“Yes, yes, of course.” He nodded eagerly.

“If you are sincere in your apology, then I’m sure Elia will forgive you. She does not throw away close friendships over such pettiness. As for me…” She smiled warmly. “There is nothing to forgive.”

He smiled back, sheepishly. “Thank you…for fixing me up.”

“I promise not to tell Elia.” Ellaria lifted a finger to her lips, a sign of secrecy between them, and gave him a knowing wink. “ _If_ you stop teaching her bad words.”

 

***

 

“Did you tell Obara to train Theon to use a whip?”

Ellaria turned from the window, startled by her lover’s question. “No.”

Oberyn pulled off his shirt and tossed it on the back of the settee. “I saw her today, in the courtyard, giving him lessons. It did not strike me as the sort of thing she would offer on her own. I thought perhaps you had said something to her.”

“No,” Ellaria repeated. She came over to the bedside and began helping him take off his boots. “Perhaps Theon asked her himself. You did say he was hopeless with a rapier. Perhaps he has decided to try his hand at something else.” Though she had to say she was surprised by his choice. Perhaps it had something to do with allowing her to see the whip marks on his back?

Oberyn shrugged as she pulled off his other boot. “It just struck me as odd, but I’m glad my girls are doing well to include him, though I think Obara tolerates him because he flatters her.” He stood and began sliding her dress down over her shoulders. “I am very proud of my girls.”

“Oh, are you?” she purred, helping him along by shimmying the dress the rest of the way down her hips. “You do not ever feel outnumbered, the seven of them plus me against you?”

He buried his nose into the crook of her neck. “Never.”

“Then you would not mind one more?”

He pulled back and looked her in the eyes, searching her face. “My love?”

He took his hand and placed it over her belly, still flat now. It was not his fault that men did not know how to look for the subtler signs. She smiled up at him. “I hope your hopes are not high for a boy. I feel it will be another girl.”

He whisked her up into his arms and dropped her on the bed. He was on top of her a moment later, trailing kisses down her face, into the hollow of her throat, and to her breasts. “Eight girls, ten, one hundred. All I want right now is you.”

She tangled her hands in his thick hair and gasped as he slid lower. “My love, wait.”

There came a knock at the door.

He sat up, surprised at first. He caught on to Ellaria’s knowing grin quickly enough. “Another surprise for me?” he asked.

“I thought we might celebrate,” she said, propping herself up on the pillows.

He ran a hand through her hair and kissed her lips. “You spoil me. Should I expect another girl?”

“Hmm,” she murmured into his kiss. “I happened to find two pretty young things who were only too eager to share a bed with the legendary Prince of Dorne. I thought I’d get one of each.” She gave him a wink as he got up to answer the door. “Just in case.”


	3. Chapter 3

Oberyn came home from the tourney at Lemonwood in a foul mood, which was very much unlike him. There had been muttering of some mishap during the tourney, and Ellaria rushed down to the gate as soon as she saw his return party over the dunes. “That boy is going to be the death of me,” were the first words out of his mouth when he saw her, “if he does not get himself killed first.”

“What’s wrong?” she asked, genuinely concerned now. “Are you hurt, my love?”

With a sigh, he dismounted from his horse and handed the reins off to one of the stable boys before answering. “It’s that boy you convinced me to take on as my squire.”

“Theon?” She looked around for his horse but did not see him anywhere. Panic welled in her throat. “What happened? Is his alright?”

“He _will be_ alright,” Oberyn said. “I think his ego was bruised more than his face.”

“What—?”

Oberyn cracked a smile. “My squire got it into his head that it was _his_ job to defend your honor.”

Ellaria raised her brows. “I think this is a story I would like to hear.”

Oberyn gave a dismissive wave of his hand and linked his arm through hers. They began out towards the water gardens. “You know how men talk.”

“Yes, I know how men talk.”

“One of the knights was speaking with a loose tongue.”

“Which knight?”

Another dismissive hand wave. “He might have been forgiven for being a northerner.” He smiled at her. “Not that I _would_ forgive him. I do not wish to repeat what he said about you. You must know it was designed to anger me and cloud my judgement before our match.”

“I also know that you would not fall for such a ploy.”

“If you had been there, I would have made him apologize publicly to you, after dedicating my win to you. Instead, I was the one who had to apologize for the rash behavior of my squire.”

That surprised Ellaria. “What did he do?”

“Little damage,” Oberyn answered, “although I believe Ser Northerner will be sporting a black eye for some days to come. The boy acted before I could stop him. He has a ferocious streak to him, even if he lacks the ability to _make_ anything of it. With proper training, he could learn to funnel his frustration into discipline.”

“With proper training? Do you intend to keep him on as your squire, then?”

Oberyn paused to think about it, but she suspected his mind was already made up. “I cannot bring myself to punish the boy for defending your honor. _Attempting_ to defend your honor,” he amended. “I made him apologize for his indiscretion. The incident has been smoothed over. I do not believe any further punishment is necessary.”

Ellaria was glad to hear it.

“He was a bit…reticent on the way here,” Oberyn continued. “Perhaps you would like to speak with him?”

“Do you really think that’s what he needs right now?” she asked. “With his bruised ego?”

“He has a particular fondness for you.” Oberyn smiled broadly. “Not that I blame him, of course, but the boy does not open up to me. He seems comfortable around the girls, but I do not think it is a sister he needs right now.” He paused and gently placed his hand over hers.

She glanced over her shoulder towards the stable. “Where is he? I did not see him ride in with you.”

“Ah, he needed some time to cool off. He said he wanted to be by the ocean.”

Ah, Ellaria knew the place. Theon liked to ride his horse out to the cliffs overlooking the harbor. Sometimes the younger girls would go with him and they would climb on the rocks. She trusted them to be careful, but she still worried about them and would often watch from the high tower. Sure enough, when she climbed the tower and looked out against the setting sun, she could make out the shape of Theon and his horse, silhouetted along the cliff. And another horse and rider. A woman. Ellaria could see the very obvious figure beneath the sheer dress, even at this distance. The fine yellow fabric billowed in the sea breeze. 

Arianne? Ellaria frowned. Yes, she would know that long hair anywhere. But what would that girl want with Theon? She’d never shown an interest in him before. Perhaps she had simply noticed what many of the young women—and more than a few young men—already knew. Theon Greyjoy had become quite handsome within the last year. And Arianne…

Ellaria cupped a hand to her eyes. They seemed to be talking.

Theon found a large rock outcropping and sat on it, dangling his feet over the side of the cliff. Arianne came up behind him and placed her hands on his shoulders. He jumped and she backed off, holding her hands up. Theon had become more comfortable in his skin over the last year, but he still showed sensitivity about the scars on his back. Likely, Arianne hadn’t realized.

Theon was quick to recover and grabbed hold of her hand. Ellaria couldn’t hear what they were saying, but she imagined he had come up with a quick excuse. “You startled me” or something like that. Arianne nodded in response and came to sit next to him on the rock. He didn’t flinch or push her away when she began touching his face. Tending to the bruise Oberyn had alluded to?

Ellaria watched them talk for a long time, until the sun was so low that the light had turned purplish-orange. Then they both stood, mounted up their horses, and trotted back towards Sun Spear. Ellaria hurried down to the stables, hoping to catch a bit of their conversation. She hid herself around the corner at the sounds of their horses’ hooves drew nearer.  There she stood still and listened.

She could tell Theon’s voice easily. It had dropped in timber over the past year but was still given to cracking on occasion. “Can you do that? I thought only other knights could bestow knighthood. Them and…you know, the King.”

“Of course I can,” replied Arianne’s feminine voice, also not so far from adolescence. “I am the heir to Sun Spear, after all. A princess is perfectly capable of naming any knight in her service, don’t you think?”

There came the sounds of dismounting. With the utmost care, Ellaria peered around the corner. Theon was helping Arianne down, his hands about her waist as he lowered her to the ground. She smiled at him and flipped her hair over her shoulder.

“Thank you, kind ser.”

“My pleasure, my Lady.” Theon set her down and took her horse’s reins. His face was rather swollen, but he managed to return the smile, even with a split lip.

“We do things as we like, in Dorne,” Arianne continued, picking up the conversation. “If you’re waiting for my uncle to knight you, I’m afraid you’ll be waiting a while. He’s not a knight and has no desire to be, from what I can tell.”

“Who says I’m waiting to be knighted?” Theon shot back with an equally coy smile. “Iron Islanders aren’t really knight material.”

“Says who?”

“Says the Iron Islanders. We do things as we like on Pyke as well.” He winked at her. “I thank you for the offer, Lady Arianne, and I promise I’ll think about it. Why don’t you go back to the keep while I stable the horses?”

Arianne leaned against one of the beams. She was obviously not going anywhere. “The Iron Islands tried to secede from the Seven Kingdoms,” she remarked, almost casually. “That’s how you came to be my father’s ward.”

Theon’s smug smile faltered for a moment.

Arianne smiled disarmingly. “I didn’t mean anything by it. Well, rather, I meant that you must not have any great love for the crown.”

“King Robert,” Theon spat, “killed my brothers and sent me to live with…” He trailed off, gripping the reins tightly in his hands.

Arianne watched him with hooded eyes. “He killed my aunt, as well, and my nieces and nephew.”

“The woman Elia is named after,” Theon agreed.

“Father wants me to marry soon.”

Theon glanced up, a confused expression on his face. To him, it would seem an odd change in topic, but Ellaria had already guessed where this was going. _Arianne, you naughty girl_ , she thought. _Not yet a woman grown and already hatching plans of your own._ Did she even know that her father was already making a covert alliance of his own?

“You don’t want to be a knight. I can appreciate that. Though watching you at the tourney today, I would say you display all the chivalry becoming a knight in my guard.”

Theon snorted and rolled his eyes.

“However, if you find the thought too distasteful…” She shrugged. “An alliance between the heir of the Iron Islands and the heir of Dorne…”

Understanding dawned on his face. It was kind of cute, the way his eyes tried to widen around the large bruise. “It might make a good match,” he agreed. “But, um…I don’t think you’d like living on the Iron Islands too much.” He smiled knowingly at her. “What you’re wearing now…besides being an invitation, you would be quite cold.”

She put a hand to her mouth, as if to stifle a giggle. Arianne was not a giggly girl. She was really playing this one up. “I wouldn’t go to live on the Iron Islands, silly. You’d live here, in Dorne, as my lord husband.”

“Oh.” He fell silent.

“Wouldn’t you like that? That way you wouldn’t ever have to go home to such a cold, wet place.”

He didn’t respond, just worried the reins in his hands.

“What’s wrong?” Arianne pushed off from the beam and came to stand beside him. “Don’t worry.” She lifted his chin. “Once we became husband and wife, I wouldn’t expect you to remain faithful. You could sleep with any women you want. Elia? Obara? Ellaria?”

His head snapped up. “What? No, I—”

“I’m sure she and Oberyn would welcome you into their bed.”

“No,” he repeated. “Ellaria’s not—she’s my—I would never.”

Arianne frowned, as if she did not understand. “I apologize, if I read the situation incorrectly.” Her tone said that she didn’t think she had. It gave Ellaria pause. “I just meant you could continue to fool around with all the girls you want,” Arianne continued. “I’d want it to be a beneficial arrangement all around.”

“Of course,” Theon said. “I’ll think about your offer, Lady Arianne.”

Arianne scrunched her face up. She must have known enough to know that “I’ll think about it” almost always meant no. She schooled herself quickly, though, and leaned it. “Please do,” she said, and planted a quick kiss on his cheek, the bruised one, which caught him off-guard. Before he could react, she was dancing away, giggling, so pleased with herself that she didn’t even notice Ellaria as she rounded the corner and took off at a run. Probably to find Tyene, to help her hatch more schemes.

Ellaria stood in her hiding place for several seconds, wondering if she should reveal herself or not. In the end, she allowed Theon to stable the two horses before coming around the corner. He looked up as she approached. “Ellaria.” His hand went for his face.

“I heard about what happened at the tourney,” she said gently. “Do you need me to fetch a maester?”

She could see him bristle at the comment and had to remind herself that he was no longer the twelve-year-old who hid himself away in corners. His fifteenth name day was not far off, after all.

“I’m sorry,” she amended. “Of course not. You seem fine.”

“I am,” he muttered.

She came nearer and pulled his hand away. Arianne had done a good job of cleaning him up, but she couldn’t help herself and wiped away a nonexistence smudge on his cheek. “I thank you for defending my honor,” she said, as genuinely as she could, “but I hope you’ll not be so eager for a fight in the future. You must not be so reckless.”

He nodded sullenly.

“I know it won’t do any good,” she said. “I tell the same thing to Oberyn all the time, and yet every time he manages to scare me with his recklessness.” She sighed and put her hands on her hips, as if in aggravation. “My boys. I do not know what I will do with you.”

Theon looked up, perhaps startled at being compared to Oberyn. But then he smiled around his split lip. Not the cocky, smarmy smile he’d used for Arianne. This was the smile of the boy she knew. He’d had to grow up so fast already. She wanted to tell him to stop running head first into adulthood and its politics. Instead she smiled gently back and cuffed him on the chin.

“Between you and my girls, I wonder who will put me in my grave first.”


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings for past sexual abuse in this chapter.

Theon was quiet today. As was Elia. Something had happened between them. Ellaria could tell from the way they tiptoed around each other during practice in the courtyard, neither one willing to meet the other’s gaze. They were not truly engaged with each other and ended up calling the sparring match early.

Ellaria decided to confront her daughter first. If there was a fight going on between them, they needed to sort it out. Elia’s answer, when she asked what had happened, surprised her though.

“Theon and I slept together,” she said. “Or…we tried to.” A look of miserable confusion came over her face. “Everything started out fine. We were kissing and…we both wanted it. I thought. But then, when I started to use my hand on him, he…Mama, he became like a different person. He shoved me away and yelled at me to get out. He was throwing things at me…” She gritted her teeth in obvious frustration. “Men usually don’t turn so sour until _after_.”

Ellaria contemplated that for a moment. “Did you leave?”

“What else could I do?” Elia shrugged and continued to clean her spear, blade spread across her lap. “He was frightened, though he tried to cover it up with anger. I asked him what I’d done wrong. I’ve been with men before and never have I had such a reaction. But he wouldn’t talk.” She paused in her cleaning again and looked up. Speaking slowly, as if her thoughts had not quite caught up with her words, she said, “I think, perhaps, it has to do with what happened to him before he came here.”

“What have you heard?”

“Not much,” she replied with a shake of her head. “I’ve seen the scars on his back, though.”

Ellaria came to stand next to her daughter and stroked the top of her head comfortingly. “You’re probably right,” she admitted. “It was most likely nothing you did. You should not take it personally.”

“I know.” Elia leaned against her with a sigh. “But what I _do_ take personally is that he would not talk to me. He doesn’t trust me enough.” She snorted. “We should not have tried anything. We weren’t ready.”

Ellaria was glad that Elia could recognize this. Even if she didn’t believe it in her heart, the fact that she would say it out loud meant she knew that the two of them shared equal blame, if any at all. She left her daughter to her spear. Elia would be fine. Now it was Theon she was worried about.

She found him practicing his whip alone. His form was off today as he brought his arm up and snapped the leather cord on the ground. There was a look of stern concentration on his face, but obviously not where it belonged. He cursed and lifted the whip again, up and over his head in a wide arc. The crack never came, and he cursed.

“What do you think Obara would say?” Ellaria said as a way to make herself known.

Theon turned with a start. Then seemed to hear what she’d said, because dropped the whip on the ground in disgust. “She’d say I’m fucking useless.”

Ellaria clicked her tongue. “I think she’d say that your mind is not on the task at hand.” She bent to pick up the whip and began coiling it. Obara had given it to him on his last name day, and when his head cleared, he would be upset that he’d treated it so poorly. “Why don’t you tell me where your mind _is_?”

He looked at her, and she could see him trying to work out how much she knew. And how much she had guessed. “Elia told you?”

“I asked her to tell me.” She sat on a nearby stone bench and laid the whip at her feet. “I assure you, Elia was not spreading your secrets.” She patted the spot next to her. “Come sit and tell me.”

For a second she didn’t think he would. He looked cagey, ready to bolt at any moment. Then, he glanced around the courtyard and, finding no one else there, came to sit beside her, legs apart, hands clenched on his knees. Eyes on the ground. “Did she tell you I’m a virgin?”

“No. I don’t think she knows.” Ellaria was a bit surprised herself. She’d seen Theon with girls, kissing in the stables and such. She had naturally just assumed he had been intimate for several years now. He _was_ seventeen, after all.

“I’m a coward. I’ve been putting it off. I thought Elia…I thought she was safe.” He shook his head. “When I was fostered in the North, the second time…” He trailed off, but she could guess where he was leading.

“The man who put the scars on your back?”

Again, Theon shook his head. “It was a boy. My own age. He was a Snow, a bastard. The man who whipped me…he was Ramsay’s manservant. He did it at Ramsay’s bidding. Ramsay watched and laughed the whole time. But that was…before that…he was always…” He sniffled and quickly looked away. “Sometimes he would come into my room at night and…put his hand under my nightshirt.” He broke off abruptly. “No, I shouldn’t be talking about this. It’s sick.”

Ellaria put a gentle hand on his shoulder to keep him from getting up and walking away. “He touched you…like Elia touched you?”

Theon’s head whipped around. His eyes had become bloodshot, and he stared at her in horror. “I’m not a boy-lover.”

She knew he was speaking from hurt and so just nodded. She hoped that his time here had shown him there was no shame in being a “boy-lover,” in taking pleasure from a member of one’s own sex. But likewise, he should realize there was no shame if such a thing had been forced onto him. “This boy, Ramsay, he should not have done that. He had no right to touch you.”

“He didn’t _touch_ me.” Theon swallowed thickly. “He…when Elia _grabbed_ me, she…it was too rough. It felt like _him_. He…when he…it _hurt_. I told him to stop. No, I _begged_ him to stop. I told him he was _hurting_ me, but he just pulled harder and…” He stopped and took a shuddering breath. “Elia stopped when I told her to.”

“Oh, my dear. It’s not your fault.” Not his fault that he had been hurt. Not his fault that he had reacted in such a way to Elia’s actions. Ellaria put a hand on his head and gently steered his cheek to her shoulder. He leaned into her without complaint, and she massaged the back of his head with her fingers.

“I shouldn’t have yelled at her.”

“She understands,” Ellaria said softly into his hair. “She’s worried about you.”

“I’m pathetic. What sort of man can’t even…?”

“Shh,” she hushed. “Elia could never hate you. None of the girls could ever hate you. You should know this by now.” She pressed her lips to the top of his head. “We love you.”

“You…love me?”

“Of course.”

He gripped her sleeve, the way a child grips a blanket in its crib. “I was afraid of you when I first came here. Oberyn was frightening enough, but you…you were _terrifying_.”

“You had good reason to be afraid of bastards.”

“Not just that. You were so…nice. I couldn’t understand it. I thought only weak people were nice, but you were so strong, I…” He sighed and straightened up. She let him go, let her hands fall back into her lap. “I should probably apologize to Elia, right?”

“You should do whatever you’re comfortable with.”

He nodded and pushed himself to his feet. “I’m not ready to tell her…what I just told you. I don’t want her knowing.”

“I doubt she’d judge you for it.”

“I don’t want her knowing, all the same. But I will apologize for throwing a vase at her.” He grinned sheepishly. “I may have broken it…and a few other things.”

“No harm done.”

His smile grew a touch wider, more self-deprecatory. “Don’t say that until you find out which vase I broke.” He scratched the back of his head and turned to go. “Thank you, Ellaria. For…” He shrugged wide, indicating this or that or everything.

She understood.

“I hope it’s not too forward of me to say...”

She cocked her head, as if to hear better. “Yes?”

“Iloveyoutoo.”

He ducked his head and ran from the courtyard.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The epilogue will be posted later this week.


	5. Chapter 5

Eight years ago, he’d arrived on this very dock, carrying a sack with his most precious possessions and wearing a guarded look. There was hardly any trace that boy left. He was a young man now, handsome and smiling and more than willing to let the crew carry his chests of clothing onto the ship for him. The wind tousled his hair as he stood staring out across the harbor, towards the ship moored just offshore. The ship that would take him home.

He looked so happy, Ellaria couldn’t bring herself to be sad today, though she would miss him.

Two men brushed by her carrying yet another chest.

“Even Arianne doesn’t have that many clothes,” Dorea said, wrinkling her nose. “And anyway, I thought you said the Iron Islands are cold and wet. Aren’t you going to get cold wearing your nice stuff, T’eon?”

Theon turned back to them, all lined up to see him off. Except Doran, of course, but they had said their goodbyes earlier. His grin turned sardonic as his eyes met Dorea’s. “A Prince has got to be dressed appropriately for his homecoming.”

“Yeah?” Dorea shot back. “How many homecomings are you planning?”

Theon ruffled her hair hard enough to make her go, “Hey!”

“You take care, squirt,” he said.

He turned to Obella next. The girl had never quite gotten over her hero worship phase, even though they had spent less and less time together over the last few years. She stood completely straight, trying to hold her face steady as Theon pulled her in for a hug.

“Now that I’m leaving, it’s up to you to teach Dorea and Loreza everything _I_ taught you.”

Oh Gods, Ellaria hoped not. Those two got into enough trouble as it was.

“I will,” Obella said. As they parted, she scowled and jutted her lip out, probably to keep from showing any emotion, but the effect was that of a soured face. “Have a safe voyage back.”

Theon went to Elia next. They were of a height and stared each other in the eyes for several moments. Something passed between them. Things had never quite gone back to normal between them, and yet somehow they seemed closer than ever. Ellaria guessed she would never truly know what had transpired after Theon’s painful and shame-filled confession to her in the courtyard that day. Did he ever tell her? Did they ever try for intimacy again? And did they succeed? Whatever had happened, they had been quieter around each other from that day on, though not in an awkward way. Rather, in the way of two people who didn’t need words. Their sparring was smoother, more fluid as they seemed to read each other’s movements. More like dancing.

Finally, Elia, always bold, broke their silence. “You need to write.”

“I will,” it was Theon’s turn to promise. “ _And_ I’ll visit.”

Elia eyed him skeptically.

“I _will_ ,” Theon repeated. “Or maybe you could come to visit me on the Iron Islands. You’d love finger dancing.”

Elia scowled. “I don’t dance, you know that.”

Theon laughed.

Instead of a hug, they clasped each other’s shoulders as they had often before and after sparring. “I’ll write,” Theon reassured her. “I’ll send a raven once a week while I’m sailing, and once a month when I’m back on Pyke.”

“Take care,” Elia said. “And remember not to underestimate anyone you spar with. I don’t want to hear you’ve been turning your back on anyone.”

He winced, then smiled. “I promise I won’t. May the Drowned God take me.”

Next, Theon bid curt but respectful farewells to Sarella, Tyene, and Nymeria. He had never spent much time with them during his time here, though their interactions—those Ellaria saw, at least—had always seemed pleasant. She had once heard Tyene call him “baby brother,” which had made her happier than either of them could have known.

Theon did pause longer for Obara though, looking unsure of how he should acknowledge her. “Thank you,” he said, “for everything.”

A small grin found its way to Obara’s face. She took the initiative and clasped him on the shoulder, just as he’d done with Elia. “I hope you packed your whip.”

Theon scoffed. “Of course. It’s with my things.”

“Good. Continue to practice with it. When I see you again, you’ll show me how much you’ve improved.”

Theon nodded.

He had no sooner moved away from her than Arianne threw herself on him, wrapping her arms around his neck. Neither Trystane nor Quentyn had made it down to the docks for the sendoff—why would they? Trystane had always been too young for Theon’s interest and Quentyn had only just recently returned from Yronwood—but Arianne had been more than happy to represent Doran’s line. She pressed her lips to his ear and whispered, just loud enough for Ellaria to make out, “My offer is always open. Just send a raven, and it will be done.” She kissed him on the cheek and then released him.

He staggered a little bit, and Ellaria took her chance to steady him again. She placed her hands on his shoulders and looked up into his face. Not the boy she’d had to bend down to greet that day all those years ago, but a young man she had to crane her neck to meet eye-to-eye. She patted his cheek. “You’ve made me proud,” she said.

Theon beamed at her.

“Whatever you go and whatever you do, I know you’ll continue to make me proud.” She cast a look over her shoulder at the Sand Snakes and Arianne. “All of us. I know you will make House Martell very proud, just as you will make House Greyjoy very proud.”

“I’ll try,” he said with a nod.

Oberyn came up to stand beside her. “And so, you are returning home, Theon Greyjoy.”

“Thank you, my Lord,” Theon said quickly, “for allowing it. I mean, for asking Lord Doran to—”

Oberyn waved him off. “We have kept you from your home long enough. Though I do hope you were never made to feel a prisoner in our walls.”

“No,” Theon said. Then, a bit more truthfully, “Not exactly. I thank you for making me feel like a…guest.” He paused, seemed to think, then shook his head. “No, like family.” His face turned a bright red crimson. “If it’s not too forward for me to say, my Lord.”

“Of course not,” Oberyn said. “Sunspear is your home as well. If you should ever feel the need to return…”

Theon shrugged, and Ellaria felt him slip out of her grasp. He gathered himself, pulling himself to his full height and holding his head high. He looked at them, smiling. From the dock, the oarsman called, “Five minutes, my Lord. The captain wishes to weigh anchor within the hour.”

Theon gave the man an acknowledging wave. “Well, I guess I should be off,” he said, turning back to them, and locking eyes with Ellaria in particular. “The Drowned God’s tides wait for neither peasant nor king.” He took in a deep breath of the salty air and let it out slowly. “The weather is nice this morning. When I come back one day, I’ll bring my mother with me. She would like Dorne, I think. And I would like showing it to her.”

“We would very much like for you to introduce her to us,” Ellaria said.

Theon grinned. “And _I_ would very much like to introduce _you_ to _her_.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, thanks to everyone for reading. I may be posting another smaller story before my next multi-chapter fic, which will probably be up later in June.


End file.
